The Hard Road
by Andrea Colt
Summary: Andrea catches back up to Sam and Dean and they go after a traveling ghost. Pranks and angst abound. Fifth in the Andrea series.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine, I'm just borrowing it. _

_Author's Note: This is number five in the Andrea series. It opens with the events of WIAWSNB from Sam and Andrea's point of view. It also contains spoilers for the season 2 finale. I've used Jefferson, whose name was mentioned in the first season, but we've never learned anything else about him. For a visual, imagine Michael Clarke Duncan (Balthazar from the Scorpion King)._

**The Hard Road**

Highway to Hell was blaring at top volume as I paid the last toll on I-80 and blasted out of the craziness of Chicago traffic and construction. I'd been driving with the pedal to the metal all day. Between road fatigue after 15 hours of driving and the pain of my injuries I was barely hanging in there. I just wanted to get to Joliet, to Sam and Dean, and make sure they were ok before I collapsed.

Despite having checked my pack before we parted, I _had_ forgotten something. I'd forgotten my cellphone charger. My phone was dead, and they had no way to contact me. I was worried. I shouldn't have been. They were grown men, and they'd been hunting all of their lives. They knew what they were doing, and they were better equipped to take care of themselves than I was, but I was still worried.

I spotted a sign for a gas station at the Mokena exit, so I pulled off and prayed that there would be a working payphone. I wasn't far from Joliet, and I needed to find out what motel they were staying in. I tried to tell myself that that was the only reason I was calling, and that the bad feeling in my gut had nothing to do with it.

It had been threatening to rain all evening, and as I climbed out of the Jeep an ominous rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The little gas station did have a payphone mounted on the wall just outside the door. Miracle of miracles, it worked, too.

Sam picked up on the first ring, "Dean?" He sounded worried.

"No, it's Andrea. I'm about fifteen miles from Joliet. Isn't Dean with you?" My heart was in my throat. If Sam didn't know where Dean was then something _was_ wrong.

"Andrea! Why is your cell off? We've been trying to reach you all day!"

"I left my charger in the Impala, my battery died. Sam, where's Dean?"

"He went out to see what he could find out about the disappearances. I figured out that we were looking for a Djinn while he was out, and when he called in I told him about it. He said he saw some ruins a few miles from where he was and was going to check them out. He hasn't checked back in and I'm starting to get worried, he should have called half an hour ago." It was standard practice with us that when we were on a job and someone was solo we'd call and check in every two hours. If Dean didn't check in then he was in trouble.

"OK, where are you?" My heart was racing, and adrenaline was pushing my pain into the background.

"The Joliet Motel, take the Chicago St. exit and go north about half a mile, it's on the left. We're in room 12."

"I'll be there in ten minutes." I tossed the phone handset at the cradle and didn't stop to fix it when I missed and it just swung there at the end of its cord. I swung the Jeep back out onto the road with a squeal of rubber on asphalt and I slalomed in and out between slower moving vehicles as I covered the last ten miles of interstate to the Chicago St. exit. Sam was standing outside the room as I pulled to a stop in front of the door.

He started to climb into the passenger seat, but once he got a look at my black and blue face he stopped and practically ran around to the driver's side. "Oh my God, Andrea!" He reached out to touch my face, but hesitated, afraid that he would hurt me. "What happened?"

"I'm ok. It looks worse than it is. Come on, get in, we've got to find Dean." It really did hurt as bad as it looked, but I was too scared for Dean to worry about myself.

"Let me drive, you look exhausted. Besides, I've been staring at maps of the area all day. I've pretty much got the streets memorized." He took my arm to help me out of the Jeep and he gasped again when his hand found the sticky wet spot on my side. My wounds had bled through the bandages, and I hadn't taken the time to stop and change them. "You're bleeding!"

I let him help me out of the Jeep. The red spot on my shirt wasn't that big, Bruce had done a good job of stitching me up, but I'd re-opened the wound a little when I'd jumped back into the Jeep at the gas station in my hurry to get to Sam.

He made me lean back against the Jeep as he lifted my shirt and took a look at my injuries. I tried to push his hands away. "I'm fine, Sam. We don't have time for this," I protested. He turned pale when he saw the long, deep scratches that ran diagonally down my left side from just below my breast to the waistband of my pants.

"You are not fine! You drove all the way here like this? Andrea…" I could hear the worry in his voice, and see the pain in his eyes. "Come on, you need to lie down. I can go find Dean."

"Damn it, Sam! This is no worse than some of the wounds you and Dean have had. I'm a hunter, this is in the job description. You are not going to pamper me like I'm a child." I swayed a little as I tried to push him away so I could get back in the Jeep. How dare he try to treat me like… like a girl! Like I couldn't handle a little scratch. He was going to… I swallowed, forcing the tears back. If he was going to walk knowingly to his own death, I could damn well deal with a minor flesh wound! I stalked around the Jeep as steadily as I could force myself to. I wasn't going to let him see how much pain I was in, especially since not all of the pain was from my physical injuries.

"Andrea…"

"Just get in and drive."

He did, and as he turned the key I thought I heard him mutter something about Dean and me being like two peas in a pod.

As he pulled the Jeep out onto the road I could feel his eyes on me, then he sighed when I didn't move my gaze from my angry, straight ahead stare. He must have decided that a change of topic was in order, "Ok, so Dean was checking out the area around the quarry when I talked to him, and he said he'd passed the ruins he was going to check out a few miles back, so I was looking at the maps and Google Earth, and I think I know where he was going. There's an abandoned chemical manufacturing plant a little south of the quarry. That's where we'll check first. If he's not there we'll try the burnt out warehouse by the river."

I stayed quiet, my lips pressed together in a line of anger and determination, but I couldn't stay mad at him for long. He was worried about me, and we were both worried about Dean. "Ok," I said, having pity on him, "Tell me about Djinns, what are we going up against? I mean, are we talking about 'Phenomenal cosmic power, itty bitty living space' type genies here or what?"

He glanced over at me with an eyebrow raised. "At least you aren't going on about Barbara Eden."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind." He shook his head, "I'm not entirely sure what to expect. There is a lot of lore about them, they're all over the Koran, and Middle Eastern mythology is full of them. The only thing I know for sure is that hey are supposed to have godlike powers, and you need a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood to kill one." He patted his jacket to indicate that he had one.

It didn't take long to find the old chemical plant. We both breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the Impala parked outside. Sam put the Jeep in neutral and killed the engine, coasting to a silent stop next to the Impala. He pulled out the knife and a flashlight from his jacket. "You stay here." He raised a hand to cut off my protest, "Listen, you may be ok, but you're exhausted and wobbly, and this will go faster if I'm not worried about you passing out on me." He took my shoulder in a firm grip, and I think he was fighting the urge to kiss me, reminding himself that that wasn't an option anymore. He looked me in the eyes, "You did good with those Daevas. You're a good hunter, and I'm not doubting your ability to handle yourself. Just let me take care of this one, ok?"

I swallowed my pride and nodded. He was right. I was in no shape to be walking into a monster's lair. I leaned back in my seat and watched him as he disappeared into the old building.

The rain that had been threatening all night started and large drops splashed against the windshield as I waited. Time seemed to drag on forever. I kept checking my watch, and when Sam had been gone seven minutes I just couldn't sit and wait any longer.

I gritted my teeth against the pain in my side and swung my legs out of the Jeep. Just as I made it to the door of the old factory it swung open and Dean emerged carrying the limp form of a young woman. Sam was just behind them, ready to support his brother if he should need it. Dean was pale, but his jaw was set in a determined line. Weak as he was from whatever ordeal he had endured, he was determined to carry the girl in his arms to safety.

"Dean!" I was at his side in an instant and he looked up at me. I saw him flinch when he saw the state of my face.

"Andrea…" Sam was suddenly there, taking the limp girl from Dean's arms as his knees buckled just slightly. He recovered quickly, but he let Sam take the girl and he flung his arms around me in a powerful hug. I returned the embrace, but winced with a pained intake of breath when he squeezed my side too hard.

He pulled back quickly, looking at my side and seeing the bloodstain on my shirt for the first time. He put a gentle hand on the side of my face, "What happened?"

"I'll tell you the whole story when we get out of this rain." We were getting soaked. "You look like you've had a pretty rough night yourself." I slipped an arm around his shoulders and we limped back to the Impala supporting each other like two wounded soldiers.

Sam slipped the unconscious girl into the passenger side of the Jeep and buckled her in. He turned back to us, "I'm going to get her to the hospital. Dean, are you going to be ok to drive?"

"Yeah, I'm good, dude. You take care of her. She saved my life."

Sam nodded and slipped behind the wheel of the Jeep. Dean and I got into the Impala. He ran his hand over the steering wheel and sighed before he turned the key. His usual cocky mask was gone, and his emotions were raw and so close to the surface. I desperately wanted to know what had happened to him inside the old factory that could tear his walls down so completely, but he wouldn't appreciate me asking. I gave him the time he needed to pull himself back together. On the ride back to the motel I filled him in on what had happened with the Daevas.

When I'd finished telling him he pulled the Impala over on the side of the road and turned it off. He stared strait ahead out the windshield as if mesmerized by the rain. "Dean?"

"Do you ever wonder if all of this is worth it? I mean, I know you chose this life. You had a regular, normal life, even if it wasn't the greatest. You had a life where you didn't have to worry about living through the night, where you didn't have to worry about the people you care for being torn to shreds by something out of Clive Barker's nightmares. Do you ever want to go back to that?" He didn't look at me as he spoke. He just stared straight ahead, his arms propped on the steering wheel. "Even Sammy had a couple of years where he got to live a normal life, but this life – hunting – is all I've ever known."

"Normal isn't all it's cracked up to be. Normal, to me at least, means slogging away at a dead-end job to make a paycheck that's already spent before you get it. It means wondering if anything you do can make a difference, and wondering if the world would even miss you if you weren't in it. It's sleepwalking through a day you've already lived a thousand times, and it's a life sentence. This, what we are doing, is living. It's making a difference, and it makes you really appreciate the people you love, and the people who love you. Would I ever want to go back to normal? Not in a million years, even if I knew for a fact that I was going to die tomorrow." I hadn't realized that I felt that way, not until I said it aloud. I knew I didn't want to go back to my life the way it was before, but now I understood why, and I understood how Sam could be so calm about what he knew. I'm not sure if what I said helped Dean, but it helped me.

Dean was still watching the rain with his thousand yard stare. After a minute he ran a hand down his face and cracked his brilliant cocky smirk, "Yeah, I guess the grass _really is_ always greener on the other side, huh?" He looked over at me and took my chin gently in his strong hand. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead, careful to avoid my injuries. His expression went serious again, "That Djinn granted my wish. It was all in my head, but I didn't know that. Mom was alive, Sam was going to law school, and he was engaged to Jessica. You and me were shacked up while you were finishing your degree." His grin returned as he relived some memory from his time in that other world, "We were all happy."

"Do you wish you could have stayed?"

"I almost did. It was everything I've always wanted. But I gave it up. I gave it up even before I knew it wasn't real. I was willing to sacrifice not just my happiness, but Mom's and Sam's and yours for the sake of all the strangers Dad and Sam and me have saved over the years. I guess I'm just not meant for normal either." He started the car and put it in gear, "But you know, this life does have its perks."

"Oh, and what would those be?"

"I have a trunk full of cool weapons, no bills to pay, and a brother who also happens to be my best friend. Oh, and did I mention that I have a girlfriend who can kick a demon's ass back to hell?" He shot me a crooked grin and pulled out onto the road and I couldn't help but smile.

Sam got back to the motel nearly an hour after we did. Dean had re-bandaged my wounds and we shared a shower – more to make sure that neither of us passed out and cracked our heads open than for any romantic purpose. Knowing that we were safe for the moment, I took one of the knock-out pain pills Bruce had given me. I was drifting in and out of consciousness despite the pill's effect, and I caught little snatches of Sam and Dean's conversation. The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me for the night was Sam saying, "It's worth it." _Well, at least we're all on the same page where that's concerned._

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.

We stayed for two more nights at that little motel recuperating from our various wounds, both physical and emotional. I wasn't a very cooperative patient I'm afraid, and Dean was crawling the walls under Sam's gruff but loving nursing. Dean was fine after a night's sleep and some orange juice, but Sam was insisting that he take it easy after his blood loss. By the morning we left we were all cranky and out of sorts. We needed a hunt. We needed something to distract us from the emotional rollercoaster the three of us found ourselves riding.

Sam was doing his level best to stick to the decision he'd made back in Maine. He even cleared out for a while and gave Dean and me some space. It wasn't easy, but I was trying as hard as I could to see him as a brother. I could only hope that it would get easier for us in time, and I prayed that we would have the time.

Dean could tell that something was eating at Sam, that Sam was hiding something from him. He was like a dog with a bone trying to pry the secret from his brother, but Sam wouldn't tell him. It all came to a head as we were packing the Impala the day we got back on the road.

"Dean, have you seen my electric razor? I could have sworn I left it in the bathroom."

"What are you asking me for? I don't keep track of your stuff." Dean grabbed up his shaving bag and crammed it into his duffle with exaggerated force. Sam's eyes narrowed in annoyance and he turned on his heel to check the bathroom once again for his missing razor.

He stormed out again almost immediately, "Dude, how did my shirt end up wet on the floor? I can't pack it wet, it'll mildew." He tossed the soaking shirt over the back of a chair, inadvertently splashing his brother in the process. Dean wiped the drops of water from his face and I could see his neck starting to turn red as he got more annoyed. Trying to diffuse the situation I handed Sam his shaver, which I'd found sitting on the bedside table. It didn't work. He took it and packed it with a tight-lipped nod of thanks, and shot an angry glare at his brother.

Dean zipped his bag shut and turned to head for the door. He made it two steps before he tripped over Sam's laptop case which had been leaned against the foot of one of the beds. He caught his balance, and then kicked out at the offending bag.

"Dean! That's my laptop!"

"Well watch where you put your stuff!"

"You better hope you didn't break it."

"Oh yeah! What are you going to do about it if I did, Francis?"

Sam's right hook came out of nowhere, but Dean's reflexes were just as fast as his brother's. He got an arm up to block the punch, and he dropped his duffle. Before I could say anything they had tackled one another. The next thing I knew they were rolling on the bed and off onto the floor, each one trying to pin the other. Their faces were red with anger. I yelled, trying to stop them, but nothing I said did any good, so I grabbed the ice bucket and filled it with cold water. In my defense, I did warn them before I doused them.

When the icy water hit them they broke apart sputtering. They looked at me wide eyed with surprise, their argument forgotten for the moment. Then they looked at each other with pure mischief in their eyes. The next thing I knew I was being tackled by the both of them. I kicked and fought, but they were stronger and I was no match for both of them working together. They picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. Dean turned the shower on cold and they shoved me under it, but I managed to get a firm grip on Sam and pulled him in with me. We were both lying in the bottom of the tub getting soaked with cold water. We helped each other to our feet, and, acting as one, we reached out and pulled a laughing, gloating Dean in with us. All for one, and one for all. We were soaked, but we were laughing and the fight was forgotten for the moment.

We took long enough to change clothes, and we hit the road. We stopped off at Bobby's to drop off Johnny's Jeep for safekeeping, but the grizzled old hunter was off on a hunt of his own. We left the Jeep parked behind the house, and Sam gave him a call to let him know what was going on.

"Hey, Bobby told me where the spare house key is. He says we're welcome to stay the night if we want to. He also mentioned that there's a file we might want to take a look at on the kitchen table." Sam told us when he got off the phone. He went to one of the hubcaps that were hanging on the side of the house and tilted it just a bit so he could get his fingers in behind it. He pulled his hand out with Bobby's spare key.

"So what's he out hunting?" Dean asked as he followed his brother up the steps. I was right behind them.

"He's not sure. Whatever it is, it has a taste for newlyweds, though. He's in Las Vegas."

"That sly old dog; it figures he'd take the fun hunt." Dean made a bee-line for the fridge. Sam went straight for the thick manila folder on the table. I pulled up a seat next to Sam at the table, and once Dean had found himself something to munch on he came over to lean on the back of my chair. We watched as Sam pulled out the newspaper clippings and spread them out over the table. They all had bits circled with red marker, and we each grabbed one and started reading.

"Two bodies found in West Memphis, Arkansas, apparently died from heatstroke." Sam summarized the clipping he had picked up.

"This one's from Ontario, California, same thing – two dead from heatstroke." Dean dropped the clipping and picked up a couple more.

"Mine's the same, two heatstroke deaths in Carlisle, Pennsylvania."

"These are more of the same, from Laredo, Texas, and Joplin, Missouri. Two stiffs each time."

"It's definitely a pattern, but it's moving. Here, let me see all those and lets put them in order." Sam took back all the clippings and started sorting them by date.

"I can already tell you one thing all those cities have in common. Every one of those is a truck stop town."

"Andrea, lots of towns have truck stops." Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but not like the ones in those clippings. Those towns each have a cluster of several large truck stops." I cleared some room on the table and pulled my laptop out of its case. By the time I had it booted up and my map software running Sam had finished sorting the articles. There were eight of them in all. Dean leaned over my shoulder and watched as Sam read them off in order, and I plotted them out on my map.

"It started in Laredo, then El Paso, Texas; Kingman, Arizona; Ontario, California; Amarillo, Texas; Joplin, Missouri; West Memphis, Arkansas; and finally Carlisle, Pennsylvania."

"It's not jumping around, it's traveling the interstates." Dean pointed out as I plotted the route our killer had taken.

"It's either a truck driver, or it's hitching rides with truckers." I studied the route I'd plotted on the map, thinking about all of the times I'd stopped in those cities during my two year stint as a truck driver. "If it started in Laredo, then it's a good bet that whatever it is came up out of Mexico."

"What kind of time period are we looking at here?" Dean asked.

Sam flipped back to the first clipping, "The Laredo deaths happened on the first of July, and the most recent one is from…" He shuffled the clippings again, "Two days ago, August 4th."

I did a little calculating out loud, "Ok, so a solo truck driver can only drive for eleven hours a day by law, and that's about 600 to 700 miles, so…" I double checked the mileage, "Ok, if you fudge your logbooks a little its one day's drive from Laredo to El Paso. What was the date on the El Paso death?"

"July 2nd," Sam supplied, and leaned over to watch as I checked the next leg of the trip.

"It's the same out to LA from El Paso - one day's hard push. Whoever was driving could have made it out to LA on the third, but where ever he was delivering to would be closed for the holiday, so he would have had to stop at one of the TA's in Ontario. Those two truck stops are just about the only ones in the LA area with any parking."

Sam confirmed, "Yeah, the Ontario killings were the night of the 3rd. After that there's a ten day gap before the next deaths."

I thought for a minute, "You know, we might not be looking for a truck or a driver. We might be looking for a trailer. If he dropped his trailer at a receiver, or on a drop yard it could have sat for a week before the next driver picked it up."

"Ok, so we have to find one semi trailer out of all the trailers out there on the highways. Talk about your needle in a haystack." Dean snarked. "And what the hell uses heatstroke to kill people?"

"It looks like we've got some research to do." Sam stood up to go get his computer, "And even thought your theory fits, Andrea, we don't know for sure that it's right. Let's see if we can find any more information before we start chasing down truck drivers." He slipped out of the kitchen to get his bag from the Impala.

Dean leaned over me and planted an upside down kiss on my forehead, "I think it's a brilliant theory, but then, I think I'm a little biased." He pulled up a chair and started re-reading the clippings looking for anything we might have missed. Sam came back in a couple of minutes and we went to work trying to figure out what we were after.


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon dragged on as we poured over web pages full of old news articles and summer death statistics. My haphazard knowledge of Spanish was drafted into service to read newspaper articles from Mexico when Google translator proved too slow for the masses of articles we were sifting through. Dean sorted through Bobby's collection of books looking for mention of a creature that kills by heatstroke and likes to travel. Even Sam was starting to feel the boredom.

Eventually I stood up to stretch my poor cramped back, and while I was up I decided some payback was in order for the dousing I'd gotten that morning. We had moved our research session into the living room where the books were, so they wouldn't be able to see what I was up to as I wandered into the kitchen. I pulled three beers out of the fridge and popped the tops. I then grabbed Bobby's bottle of jalapeño and habanera pepper sauce and added a liberal dose to Sam and Dean's beers.

I paused for a moment wondering if I was doing the right thing. Would I be able to keep up with them in a prank war? Was I ready to handle the payback that was sure to come? A smile crossed my lips and I poured the fiery liquid. We'd had so much stress over the past few weeks; a little harmless fun would be just what the doctor ordered.

I carried the frosty, refreshing beers to the boys, careful not to mix mine up with theirs. It was hard to keep from smiling as they thanked me and upped the bottles. The looks on their faces were priceless when the burn of the pepper sauce hit. I snorted with laughter, then turned and ran. There were plenty of places to hide in the junkyard.

"Andrea! Get your butt back here." I could hear Dean roar as he sprang to his feet to chase me.

"You are so in for it when I catch you!" Sam's threat would have carried more weight if it hadn't been followed by a moan of, "Oh, god, water… quick!"

I circled around a pile of rusted out cars and doubled back on my trail to make it harder for Dean to track my prints in the dusty ground of the yard. Then I clambered quietly over a row of junked trucks to break up my trail and slipped into a nook between two old cars. I listened as Dean and Sam came looking for me, my face split in a wide grin.

They were excellent trackers, and they moved silently. It didn't take Dean long to figure out what I'd done, especially since he'd been the one who taught me the trick. I never heard him as he slipped up behind my hiding spot and wrapped his arms around me from behind, dragging me out onto his lap. "I've got you now," he whispered into my ear.

Sam was still out there searching, and Dean put a finger on my lips to keep me quiet. "I am so going to pay you back for that, but what do you say we make Sammy search a little longer?" His moss green eyes twinkled with mischief.

I nodded and he took my hand. Staying low and moving quietly he led me toward the forgotten recesses of the back of the junkyard. We stopped once as Sam passed near us, then we were moving again. Dean had some place in mind, and I was curious to see where he was taking me. When we were almost to the back fence he stopped and moved a rusted piece of tin away from where it was leaning against a stack of metal cubes that had once been cars. The tin had been covering a cave-like opening in the pile. Dean motioned for me to go in, and he followed, pulling the tin back to cover the opening.

I heard him fumbling around, and then the darkness was suddenly banished by the green glow of a chem-lite stick. I looked around and smiled when I realized what I was in. This must have been one of their childhood hide-outs. There were a couple of old blankets, and a stack of moldering Playboy and car magazines, and a shoebox full of baseball cards.

Dean scrunched in close to me in the cramped space and whispered, "Sorry about the poor accommodations, but it's been so long since we used this place I bet Sammy doesn't even remember it."

I ran my finger over a dust covered model airplane that was sitting in a nook created by the way the blocks of metal had been stacked. "I would have loved to have had a place like this to hide in when I was a kid. You two must have spent a lot of time here at Bobby's."

"Yeah, we did. Dad left us here a lot when he went on hunts. Here or at Pastor Jim's farm. It wasn't home, but it was about as close as we got." He looked around the small space, "I'd almost forgotten about this place myself. I don't think I've been in here since I was fifteen. It seems a lot smaller than I remember." He cracked a grin as he scrunched even closer to me. "Almost cramped, even." He pulled me closer and lowered his lips to mine for a kiss. I snaked my arms around him and gave into it. After a long minute he pulled back a little and whispered, "Don't think I've forgotten about that prank. I've always believed that revenge is a dish best served cold."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll be watching my back." I replied with a sly grin. He leaned back and pulled me down to lay beside him.

"Yeah, but I don't think you realize what you've gotten yourself into. A Winchester prank war is the stuff of legends." His fingers trailed through my hair. "Just ask Bobby about the time he ended up with a Volkswagen Bug in his bedroom."

"Oh, I will. That sounds like an interesting story." I grinned at him, and we leaned together for another kiss. His hand sneaked under my blouse and into my bra. I trailed my fingers down his chest and was moving them lower when the tin covering the entrance was roughly moved aside, letting a stream of bright afternoon sun into our cozy hideaway.

Dean quickly pulled his hand away, and Sam backed away from the entrance, his face turning bright red as he realized what he'd interrupted. "Uh, sorry, man. I'll, uh… I'll just go back to the house." The tin was moved back into place and we heard his footsteps retreating. The mood had been broken though, and we had a hunt to get back to. Dean and I both sighed and he moved the tin again so we could crawl out.

"My kid brother still has the same lousy timing he had when we were teenagers." Dean helped me to my feet and tossed an arm casually around my shoulder as we walked back to the house. "I swear it's like he's got some kind of make-out detector. He always seems to show up just when things are getting interesting."

"Well, why don't you let him have the top bunk tonight? The bed in my room is big enough for two." I refused to let myself feel guilty. Sam had made the decision to back out of our relationship; he was going to have to learn to live with the consequences. Of course I did regret the invitation for one reason: I had planned to stay up late trying to find a way to get Sam out of his date with destiny. But the invitation was made, and I couldn't squirm out of it now.

Dean grinned down at me, "Have I mentioned recently that I like the way you think?"

Sam was sitting on the rail of the back porch with a beer in his hand. He jumped down when he saw us, and walked back into the house just ahead of us, "I guess we've got research to get back to." His head was down, and he wouldn't look at either of us. It wasn't like him.

Dean tensed, and moved a little away from me, guessing that it was our being together that had Sam so upset. I knew that there was more to it. I wracked my brain for an excuse to get Sam alone so we could talk. Dean could tell that his brother was keeping something from him, but he was never one to push where emotions are concerned. Eventually the two brothers would come to a confrontation, but the concern and annoyance would simmer just under the surface for a long time before it erupted. I'd managed to diffuse the first fight, but nothing had been resolved, and the next one would be much worse. I was coming between them, and I hated myself for it.

If I hadn't come into their lives, then Sam wouldn't have to live with the knowledge the he was going to die, and he wouldn't have to keep such a huge secret from his brother. It was bad enough when they just had to deal with the possibility. Dean had kept their father's words a secret, and it had nearly destroyed him. I couldn't even imagine the turmoil that Sam was going through. I fell back behind Dean a step or two and blinked hard to keep my tears from falling. The last thing I need to do was try to explain to Dean why I was crying.

I stopped in the kitchen and let them go on into the living room. I started poking through the cabinets looking for something to fix for dinner. It was as good an excuse as any to keep me away from them while I got my emotions back under control. Spaghetti noodles, canned sauce, bread, butter, garlic powder. It wouldn't be gourmet, but it was comfort food. It was homey, and normal, and just then I needed that.

I filled a pot with water and put it on to boil as I thought about the conversation I'd had with Dean in the Impala after the thing with the Djinn. I could see, now, why he so desperately wanted a normal life, and why Sam had run away looking for normal. Normal people didn't have to deal with knowing when they were going to die. Normal people didn't have the weight of the whole world sitting on their shoulders. Normal people didn't know beforehand that they were going to have to watch one person they love die, and then know that they would have to abandon the other person they love just when he would need me the most.

I couldn't hold the tears back any longer. They slowly dripped down my cheeks as I went about the normal task of making spaghetti. I dug through Bobby's kitchen drawers looking for a can-opener, and when I found his junk drawer I didn't know whether to laugh or cry harder. Only a hunter would have silver bullets rolling around loose in a kitchen drawer. I picked one up and turned it over in my hand and the tears came harder as it reminded me of what Sam had gone through with Madison. Normal people didn't have to kill the people that they loved.

I put one hand on the counter to hold myself up as I struggled not to sob aloud. A hand on my shoulder startled me, and I whipped around to see Sam's dark eyes looking into mine, filled with concern. "Andrea? What's wrong?"

I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat. I glanced past him to the living room door.

Sam picked up on my concern right away, "He's researching. I told him I was going to help you with dinner."

I nodded, my lips pressed tightly together as I tried to get a grip on myself. Sam tilted his head toward the back door and gently squeezed my shoulder. I turned and he followed me onto the back porch. As soon as the door was closed behind us I turned and buried my face in his chest and let the sobs come. I couldn't speak, I just cried as he held me. I cried until I had no more tears left in me. Forceful sobs wracked me and I muffled them in his strong chest, lest Dean hear me and come to see what was wrong.

Sam wrapped his arms around me and let my cry. One hand rubbed my back, and I could feel his cheek pressed against my hair as he whispered comforting sounds to me. It was a long time before I could speak. When the sobs and hiccups subsided I pulled back. With a sad smile I ran my hand across the damp spot on his shirt, "I got you all wet."

"It's not the first time." He cupped my cheek with his large hand and smiled gently down at me, "Do you want to talk about it?" His thumb moved across my cheek, wiping away the tears.

I hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath. Looking at his eyes I said, "Tell me what you saw. Tell me why."

He flinched. He turned away.

"Sam, I have to know. You say it's the only way, and I trust you, but I have to know why."

"Because if I don't you and Dean will die." He took two steps away from me and leaned on the porch rail, just like he had that night on Johnny's porch. His back was to me and he looked out across Bobby's junkyard as he spoke. "I'm going to have a choice to make; only it's not really a choice at all. There is a man who is going to try to kill me. We fight. I win, and he's unconscious on the ground. If I give into my anger and kill him I'll live, but I'll become the monster that I've been afraid of all this time. And if that happens, you and Dean, and thousands of other people will die. If I walk away and let him live he will kill me, but I'll be trading my life for something that's worth it."

He turned around and I could see the tracks of tears running down his cheeks. "I don't want to die. There's so much I still want to do. I want to be here for you, and for Dean. I want to be the best man when you two get married, and I want to be there to spoil my nieces and nephews. I want to finish law school." He shook his head and a chuckle escaped despite his tears, "I want to see the Grand Canyon." His face went serious again, "But I can't. What I can do is be the hero that Dad raised me to be. I can make sure that that yellow eyed bastard doesn't win." His jaw was set in a determined line.

"Did you see that? Dean and me getting married?" I asked in a small voice. It wasn't an important question, and I felt selfish asking it.

He smiled, "No, but I know how you two feel about each other. Without me there to complicate things…"

"Oh, Sam… that isn't… I mean…"

He stopped me before I could find the words, "No. I'm going to do this because it's the right thing to do. I'm doing this because I don't want to be a monster. Besides, even if I wasn't going to… I still would have bowed out. Not because I feel any less for you," He rushed the words to forestall hurting me, "but because Dean needs someone he can be happy with. He's given up so much for me. I want the two of you to be together. It was getting too complicated the way it was."

We stood in silence for a time. I thought about what he'd said, about why he was going to go willingly to his death. I couldn't stop it. I felt so helpless, and at the same time I loved him all the more for his strength.

"Dean knows you're hiding something." I blurted out.

Sam nodded; a flash of pain crossed his features. "I know. I don't know what to do about it. I don't want to spend whatever time I have left lying to him and fighting, but I can't tell him."

"Then we need to keep him distracted. We're going to need more pranks, I think." The sneaky grin that ghosted across my features turned serious again quickly, "I want the next few days or weeks or months or however long we have to be happy memories for him… for both of us." I could feel the tears threatening to start again.

Seeing my eyes well up, and my lip starting to shake Sam thought quickly, "Come on, let's get dinner going. Sir Eats-A-Lot is probably wondering what we're planning out here." He ushered me back into the kitchen with a gentle hand on my shoulder. The water for the noodles was already boiling, and he kept me distracted with stories of past prank wars between him and Dean as we got dinner together.

I was just pulling the garlic bread out of the oven when Dean burst into the kitchen, "Hey, I think I figured out what we're going after! Mmmmm, that smells good." He reached over for a piece of the garlic bread and dropped it again quickly, putting his scorched fingers into his mouth.

"Get some plates out, Mr. Grabby, and tell us what you found." I said as I pulled the noodles off and drained them. Dean shot me the cutest little boy pout in his repertoire and changed course for the dish cabinet. Sam pulled three beers out of the fridge, and I made a mental note to pick up a case to replenish Bobby's stock before we left.

"Ok, so I started searching Texas papers from over a year ago, and I found an article that looks promising. The reason it was so hard to find is because it didn't happen in Laredo." He set out three plates and I dished out the spaghetti and bread.

"Ok, go on," Sam prompted, his brows knit in puzzlement.

"It was illegal human smuggling gone wrong. About a year ago, in Freer, Texas, a state trooper came across an abandoned trailer sitting by the side of the road. It was full of illegal immigrants from Mexico. The guy who'd driven them across the border got nervous and just dumped them. The heat in the trailer got so bad that two of them died from heatstroke before they were found. We're going to have to make some calls tomorrow, but I'm willing to bet that the trailer was just released from evidence a month or so ago. All we have to do is figure out who owns it now, and where it's headed to next."

"Why hunt down the trailer, why not just find where the two immigrants were buried and salt and burn them." Sam suggested, "Seems like that would be easier than trying to track the trailer across the country."

"I think we're going to need to do both, but I want to get that trailer out of commission before anyone else dies." Dean pointed out before scooping up a huge mouthful of spaghetti.

"Good point."

We spent the rest of dinner tossing around ideas on how to go about finding the trailer. Then the conversation moved on to other hunts, Sam carefully steering the conversation to more humorous events. I listened and watched, wanting to capture the memory of them both laughing over a good story and a good meal.


	3. Chapter 3

After dinner Sam offered to clean up, and Dean and I slipped out into the yard for some sparring practice. Dean was in a good mood, and full of energy. He scratched a large circle out in the dust with his booted foot. "You ready for your butt kicking?" He asked me with a huge cocky grin as he stripped down to his tight gray t-shirt.

"You'll have to catch me first," I grinned back. Against his reach and strength I was learning that my best assets were my speed and quick thinking. He was much better than me, he'd been raised fighting, but it was getting harder and harder for him to beat me. I was pushing myself hard, trying for the day when I would be able to pin him finally, and wipe the triumphant grin off his face.

We circled each other. We'd done this often, and we each knew the other's fighting style as well as our own. He was impatient, and I would use that to my advantage. His grin slipped into a look of intense concentration. I stepped slowly to the left, and he mirrored my move, looking for an opening. "Are you going to keep dancing all day, or are you going to do something with that pretty body of yours?" Yeah, he had his game face on, and the smart remarks were all part of his style.

I grinned at him, "You just wish. What do I get if I pin you this time?"

"You get to be on top?" His grin turned wicked.

"I'll already be there. You can do better than that." Six months ago I never would have been so bold with my banter, but Dean and Sam's confidence in me was giving me a confidence in my self that I'd never known before.

"How about a full body massage? And if I pin you, you give me one."

"You're on." I made another step to the left and pretended to stumble. It was the opening that Dean was looking for and he lunged forward swinging with his right. My faux misstep let me pull my momentum back to the right and duck under his swing. As strong as he was, blocking his blows would only tire me out faster, and with my small build dodging was easier. I spun around him as I dodged and swept out with my left foot in an attempt to knock his feet out from under him.

He had anticipated my move, and his long stride had taken his feet just out of my range before I could complete the sweep. He spun back to face me, and we were back where we had started. "Is that the best you can do? Come on, Andrea, I know I've taught you better than that." As he spoke he moved in with a double punch that would have caught me in the chest if I hadn't side-stepped in time. On the second punch I used an Aikido move that Sam had shown me to catch his arm and use his own forward momentum to flip him onto his back. My shock that I'd actually pulled it off slowed me down enough that he was already rolling to his feet before I could move in for the pin.

"That's my girl. I think I'm going to need a massage after that." He was smiling, "But don't let it go to your head."

This time I moved in for the attack with a flurry of kicks that put him off balance, but he surprised me by grabbing my leg and pulling me to him. Instead of pressing his advantage and taking me down for a pin he pulled me closer and kissed me. He released my leg and deepened the kiss. I responded passionately, but I wasn't above playing dirty with a massage on the line. As I brought my leg down I tangled it in his and pulled his leg from under him as I pushed on his chest. He went backward with a thud and I landed on top of him.

The fall knocked the wind out of him, and he had to take a deep breath of air before he said, "You take my breath away, temptress," and he moved a hand to the back of my head and pulled me back into our interrupted kiss before I could respond.

When we finally broke apart for air I grinned at him, "It's not my fault you're easily distracted." I traced a finger along his jaw line and tapped his chin as I said, "You owe me a full body massage."

"Don't be so sure about that," he said, and with a powerful buck he flipped us both so that I was beneath him. His hands held mine against the ground and he smirked. I could feel his growing desire as the line of his body pressed along mine. His eyes grew dark with need and our lips met again. He released my hands and I threaded my arms around his back, feeling his broad, powerful muscles move as his arms surrounded me.

"Alright, you two, I sincerely hope you aren't going to go at it in the middle of the yard." Sam's voice came from the porch with a joking tone. Dean broke the kiss, and one of his hands left me as he held it up to his brother in a playful one-fingered salute.

"No, not me – her." Sam's comeback made me blush and smile at the same time. Dean gracefully got to his feet and offered me a hand to stand. I was no sooner on my feet than he was scooping me up like a knight with a fairy tale princess. It was so unexpected that I laughed with surprise.

As Dean carried me up the porch steps past Sam he said, "Looks like you finally get the top bunk, little brother." Sam was smiling, and if it was an act, it was a damn good one. Then I heard him laughing behind us, and the sound was genuine.

Dean put me down once we were inside, and I grabbed his hand as we hurried up the stairs to my room, laughing like teenagers. As soon as we were in and the door was closed I wrapped my arms around him and we kissed deeply. Dean guided me backward to the bed as we kissed, his hands slipping beneath my shirt. I was working on his belt buckle as we went. With a gentle shove he pushed me back onto the bed. He caught his weight with his elbows as he landed on top of me.

He pulled back and smiled gently at me. The strong lines of his face were lit by the orange glow of the setting sun as it shone through the window. I traced his cheek and ear with my fingers, loving the feel of being so close to him. I lifted my head to nibble along his neck, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. He lifted me to a sitting position and slipped one hand into my shirt and around to my back to unclasp my bra. I sat back and let him pull my shirt and bra off over my head. He smiled, and ducked his head to take one of my taught nipples in his mouth. He licked the skin around it teasingly before grasping it in his teeth and nibbling softly, sending shockwaves to my core.

My hand slid up his back and into his soft hair as I murmured in pleasure. I arched back to give him easier access and he supported me with his strong arms. My hands slipped downward and under the fabric of his shirt. I wanted it gone; I didn't want anything between us. I sat up again as he pulled back and pulled the offending material off, throwing it to the floor. My hands were free to slide over the smooth, warm skin of his back and chest, feeling the contours of his muscles. I loved the way the dusting of freckles across his nose was mirrored on the skin of his shoulders. I smiled as I imagined playing connect the dots across his body.

I felt myself being lifted again as he moved me further up the bed. His hand found the snap of my jeans and opened it with a flick. He was slowly moving the zipper downward, his eyes alight with desire, and a teasing grin gracing his beautiful mouth when the sounds of Sam's powerful voice echoed through the house.

"Dean! Andrea! Need some help down here!" The urgency in the cry had us springing to our feet in an instant. Dean grumbled again about his brother's timing, but neither of us slowed as we pulled on shirts and scrambled down the stairs. My body ached with unfulfilled desire, but my need was quickly replaced by a rush of adrenaline.

Dean stopped at the bottom of the stairs to see what was going on, and I pulled up short to keep from running headlong into him. I followed his gaze to see Sam in the doorway barely holding up the weight of a much larger man.

"Jefferson! Son of a bitch!" Dean was in motion again, rushing to his brother's side to help support the injured man. He was a giant of a man, ebony skinned with broad features. A large gash ran down his bald head, and he was bleeding badly. I hurried to the kitchen to pull the first aid kit from beneath the sink. By the time I got back to the living room Sam and Dean were lowering the barely conscious giant onto the couch. I pulled out antiseptic wipes to clean his head wound as Sam checked him over for other injuries.

"Jefferson, come on man, stay with us. You gotta tell us what happened to you." Dean said as he checked the big man's eyes. "Damn, he's got a concussion."

"His ribs are bruised, maybe broken. He stumbled up the driveway only a minute or so after you two went inside," Sam explained as he took the wipe from me and started to gently swab the blood away from Jefferson's head wound.

His name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't place it. I'd never seen him on the show. I turned it over in my mind as I watched Sam and Dean perform their field triage on the wounded man. Dean was calling his name trying to bring him around from his daze. If he was concussed it was vital that he stay conscious.

"Dean, damn, boy. Stop yelling in my ear," he finally came awake enough to respond in a deep baritone voice, but his words were slurred. "Where's John? Did we get that bastard?"

"Jefferson, that hunt was years ago, and yeah, we got the bastard. Do you know what year it is?" Sam asked.

It took the big man a moment to respond. The blow to his head must have been a bad one, "Oh, man. I'm sorry… Your dad… Yeah, it's two-thousand seven. I thought we were somewhere else for a minute. I thought we were back in Colorado…"

"I know, dude. I'm not going to forget that hunt, or the mess you made in the Impala. Speaking of which…" Dean moved quickly to grab a wastebasket and move it closer. "If you lose your lunch this time try to aim it here."

"Same old Dean. You're still a smartass, kid."

"Yeah, and apparently you still don't know when to duck. What happened?"

Jefferson tried for an ironic laugh, but it turned into a gasp of pain as his injured ribs moved. "Fucking Bambi. All the things I've hunted, and I get taken out by a kamikaze deer."

"This cut isn't too bad. But you're going to be in for a long night, J." Sam told him as he wiped away the last of the blood and got a good look at the laceration. "You have a pretty bad concussion from what I can tell, so no sleep for you."

"You gotta go get my truck. If the cops see…"

"Yeah, we got it covered. Where'd you crash?" Dean was already on his feet moving toward the hook where Bobby's tow truck keys were hanging.

"About half a mile up the road, near where the pavement ends. It's in the ditch."

Sam glanced at me, "Andrea, you've got to keep him awake. Put some butterflies on his head, it's not deep enough for stitches. It's going to take both of us to get that truck back, I think." He passed the first aid kit back to me, and I nodded. They'd been training me in first aid, but Jefferson was going to be my first real patient.

They had to get that truck, though. If Jefferson was a hunter, then he would have a weapons stash. If some well meaning neighbor had called the cops, and they got to the wreck first, it would mean some hard questions that none of us could answer very easily. Luckily Bobby's place was off the beaten track, and there was a good chance that Sam and Dean would get there first.

The door closed with a slam as the two brothers rushed out of the house. That left me alone with Jefferson. I rifled through the first aid kit looking for butterfly bandages. I never was very good at small talk, but I had to come up with something to talk about to keep the oversized hunter awake and alert.

"Those two are good boys, but they never were much for manners. I'm Jefferson Carver." He started to extend a hand to shake, but the pain in his ribs brought him up short.

I smiled and grasped his hand where it was so he didn't have to reach any further. "Andrea Colt, apprentice hunter. And, apparently, nurse." I grinned. "So, did you kill the deer? It's been a while since I've had venison." I leaned in to start patching up his head wound.

"No, damned… 'scuse me, danged thing startled me right off the road and kept on going." He chuckled, "I might just have to hunt it down, though. Just to make sure it wasn't possessed, you know."

His words were coming more clearly, and he seemed to be more alert than he had been. That was a good sign. I finished up with his head. "Can I get you anything? Glass of water, maybe? There's some Tylenol here, but I don't know if it will help much."

"Nothing stronger?"

"Not with that concussion. I don't want to give you anything that will make you drowsy."

"Then, yeah, some of those aspirin ought to hit the spot." He shifted his position and winced again.

"Are you having any trouble breathing?" I asked, concerned about his ribs. He didn't seem to be the sort of man who would wince over any little ache.

He shook his head, "No, Mam, it's just every other movement."

I watched him as I re-packed the kit, and he didn't seem to be taking too shallow breaths. But still… "Lift your shirt; I want to see how bad it is."

"For you, pretty lady, anytime." His teeth shone very white in his dark countenance as he flashed me a huge, teasing grin. I rolled my eyes. I helped him lift his shirt so I could take a look at his side. There was a huge mottled bruise starting to form on his left side.

"This may hurt a little." I gently prodded along the ribs on that side. He inhaled sharply as my fingers found the tender spot, but the ribs felt like they were intact. "Nothing broken. Let me get an icepack for the bruising, though." I let his shirt drop. "You stay awake, now, you hear?"

"Yes, Mam." I could hear a bit of the Deep South in his voice and speech, and it was bringing out my own long suppressed Southern way of talking. I'd tried very hard to get rid of my slight drawl and Southern speech patterns, not because I was ashamed of them, but I didn't like being stereotyped by the way I spoke.

I found a plastic bag in one of the kitchen drawers and filled it with ice from the freezer. Grabbing a kitchen towel to wrap it in I took it back into the living room. Jefferson hadn't moved, but his head was starting to droop.

"Wake up. No sleeping on the job, mister." I said as I crossed the room.

He lifted his head. "I wasn't sleeping, just resting my eyes."

"Mmm, hmm, that's what they all say." I handed him the ice pack. I was still trying to figure out where I'd heard his name mentioned. I thought about asking him about the hunt he'd mentioned earlier, but I was afraid to bring up bad memories. I was learning quickly that asking a hunter about his past was a very bad idea. The present might be better. "So what brings you out here to the dark side of nowhere?"

"I was passing through between hunts. I haven't seen Bobby in ages, and thought I'd stop by to catch up on old times. Where is the old coot, anyway?" I felt like there was more that he wasn't saying, but I didn't press.

"He's on a hunt." I wasn't sure if I should say more. Sam and Dean hadn't given me any indication of how much they trusted this man, though the fact that he knew John seemed to say that he was an old friend. It came to me then, where I'd heard the name. It had been mentioned in one of the early episodes of season one. Jefferson was one of the people they'd called when they first started searching for their father. "I don't really know any of the details."

Something was niggling at my brain. I'd thought it was just not being able to place the name, but the feeling was still with me. It struck me as odd that he would just drop in on Bobby without calling ahead - especially if he hadn't seen him in years. It happened; we'd pulled in this morning without calling, but still…

"I'm going to grab myself a drink, you thirsty?" I asked, turning to go back into the kitchen. I hoped he'd say yes.

"I could do with a beer, but I guess I'm out of luck there, huh?"

"Afraid so, but there's iced tea…"

"Yeah, sounds good."

I poured two glasses of iced tea, and I added a liberal dose of holy water to Jefferson's, just to be on the safe side. Bobby had repaired the Devil's Trap on the living room ceiling, but where Jefferson was sitting wasn't under it. If he reacted to the holy water I had no idea how I was going to get him into the trap. Maybe I should wait until Sam and Dean got back? No, I had to find out before he had a chance to slit my throat.


	4. Chapter 4

I hesitated a minute longer, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I pictured the layout of the living room and thought about what I would need to do if he reacted to the holy water. Then I steeled myself and took the tea into the other room. I tried to pretend I was just being a good hostess.

I must have given something away because when I handed him the glass he made an exaggerated show of gulping down the tea. "Satisfied?" he asked.

I reddened just a little, and started to stammer an apology, but he stopped me with a smile, "No, you did exactly right, but you need to work on your casual act just a little." He looked me over appraisingly, "So, if you don't mind me asking, how did a slip of a girl like you get into this business?"

"How did a big guy like you get into it?" I deflected his question because I still had the nagging feeling that there was something he was hiding.

"Ok. Fair enough." He shifted position and got more comfortable, and I thought he was just going to let the subject die, but then he started talking again. "It was a poltergeist. I was fifteen years old, and thought I knew everything. Now, I grew up in Louisiana, way down in New Iberia. My momma was a devout Christian, but my granny was a hoodoo lady. Everyone in the Iberia Parish came to her for cures and tricks. My momma didn't want us to have anything to do with her, but I'd sneak over there when I could. Not because I believed, but because I was at that age where I wanted to do anything that my parents didn't want me to do. And my granny could spin a story so fine that the mosquitoes would stop biting to listen. Course, I didn't realize it till much later, but she was teaching me with those stories."

His eyes went distant as he remembered, and his deep voice was rich with the cadences of the bayou. He paused to take another huge gulp of his tea then went on, "That's how I knew to go to her when things started going bad at home. There was something evil in that house, but we didn't know it at first. It started out slow, bumps and scratching, flickering lights, and all the sorts of things you write off as part of living in an old house. Then it went after my momma. I guess it took a dislike to all her praying and holiness. It pulled her right out of her bed one night, and she started screaming about the devil being after her. It wouldn't leave her alone after that. She was too proud to go to Granny for help, for all she had to have known that the old lady would be able to fix things."

"Now I thought this was pretty funny at first. The thing hadn't done any real harm, yet, and when my momma got to carrying on it could be quite a show, but that didn't last. It started in on my big sister next, and it left nasty welts on her back like she'd been whipped. That's when I realized that this was serious business. That thing deviled the both of them, despite all of Momma's praying. She even got the whole congregation over to the house for a prayer session to drive the devil out, but it didn't work. In fact, it made things worse. So I went and got Granny. I knew Momma would be angry with me, but I figured angry was better than dead. And the way things were going I was starting to realize that dead was a real possibility."

"Granny knew just what to do to get rid of the thing. She made everyone leave the house, except me. She showed me how to put together the bags of herbs and crossroad dirt, and how to place them in a five-spot pattern around the house. I wasn't expecting much to happen, but that hoodoo she worked literally blew that poltergeist right out of the house. It looked like we'd had our own personal hurricane right there in the house. That thing knew what we were up to, and it wasn't going to give up easy. It fought us every step of the way. After that I was over at Granny's place every night learning about what was really out here, and how to fight it. She said it was my calling. She said most folks just drift through life never knowing what they were meant for, but I was one of the lucky ones. My path found me."

"Wow, J. I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time," Dean's voice came from the study door. They must have come in through Bobby's office. Sam was standing right behind him.

"How long were you standing there?" Jefferson didn't look too pleased that he'd been overheard. He seemed a little embarrassed.

"Long enough to learn that you inherited your granny's gift for storytelling." Sam answered, making Jefferson look even more embarrassed. I thought it was endearing that the big man had a shy streak.

"Yeah, well, you boys were gone so long I had to do something to fill the time. Did that old truck get the better of you?"

"Nah, it just took us a while to get it unwrapped from that tree. What were you doing? Seventy, eighty miles an hour?" Dean teased as he hung Bobby's keys back on their hook.

"Nah, twenty-five tops. It doesn't take much to turn one of little foreign trucks into a pretzel. From now on I'm going to stick with good old American steel. Screw the gas mileage." Jefferson looked over at me apologetically, "Uh, sorry about my language."

I laughed, "No worries, I've heard it all. Between having a sailor for a father, and doing a stint as a truck driver, I could probably out-cuss you if I had a mind to. But I do appreciate your concern." I smiled at him.

"Yeah, I should have figured if you're hanging out with these two reprobates you can hold your own. You never did tell me how you had the misfortune of ending up in their company." I could hear the good natured ribbing in his voice, but it was at odds with the guarded way he was watching Sam. He wasn't doing it overtly, but I could see that his eyes seemed to follow the younger brother far more often than they landed on the older. I glanced over at Dean, and I could see that he'd picked up on it as well, and it bothered him.

"Long story short, I was between careers, and hunting just kind of fell into my lap. It turns out that I just happen to be suited to the job. I ran into a ghost haunting a motel out in Boise, and I tried to get rid of it. Sam and Dean happened to be working the same job. It was my first hunt. We worked together, and they took pity on me and offered to train me so I wouldn't go off and get myself killed." I shrugged, "Apparently, they liked me enough to keep me."

Dean smiled teasingly, "She irons. We had to keep her."

"She's also too modest. She has a degree in ancient religion and mythology." Sam pointed out, making me blush.

"Not really, I never finished it." I searched for some way to take the conversation away from me, "So how did you guys meet?"

Between Dean and Jefferson I got the story of how John and his boys had run into Jefferson on one of Dean's first hunts. The big man saved Dean's life, and he'd been a friend of the Winchester's ever since. After that story was told, there were more, and I listened to all of them. But mostly I watched. Jefferson was completely at ease with Dean, but he seemed a little wary about Sam. His gaze just kept drifting toward Sam, and he didn't joke with him as easily as he did with Dean.

After a while I asked Dean if he could give me a hand in the kitchen refreshing everyone's drinks.

"What do you think is going on here? I know he's an old friend of yours, but my gut is telling me there's something a little off here. I just can't figure out what it is." I pulled the tea jug out of the fridge and started re-filling glasses.

"I've noticed it too. The way he keeps watching Sammy… Makes me wonder what sort of rumors Gordon's got floating around." Dean glanced toward the door to the living room, his eyes narrowing in worry for his brother. "But J's a good guy. He's not going to start shooting until he knows what's going on."

"Do you think that's all it is? I mean that he heard something about Sam? That could explain why he was stopping by to see Bobby."

Dean nodded, "I hope that's all it is. We'll sit up with him in shifts, two of us at a time."

"Would it be better to just bring it up and get it out in the open?" I asked, not liking the idea of a tense all-nighter.

Dean shook his head, "No, I'm still not sure what he knows. The fewer people who know about Sam's psychic thing, the better." His eyes had gone distant as he rolled the situation over in his mind. Sam was the most important person in his life, and when it came to protecting him, even good family friends weren't safe. He grabbed two of the glasses, and I picked up the other two as he added, "I'll call Bobby later and let him know what's going on. It's his house, he should know that he's missing the annual hunter's convention in his own living room."

"We need to let Sam know, but I used up my only excuse to get you in here."

Dean grinned slyly, "I've got an idea. Touch his shoulder as you walk past him."

My eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, and Dean just grinned his _trust me_ smile. I shrugged and went back into the living room with a glass of iced tea in each hand. I handed Sam his first, then casually placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean was just behind me, and he bumped into me as my hand was on Sam. I felt the circuit close between them and I suddenly understood. What had been just a freaky side-effect of our soul bond was now a useful tool.

Sam's eyes widened just a bit in surprise, but he covered it quickly. I'm not sure what Dean told him in the brief moment they were linked, but it was enough to make Sam start paying attention. If Jefferson picked up on the fact that something had changed he didn't show it.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Sam excused himself with a yawn and went off to bed. Dean and I stayed up to keep Jefferson awake, and to see if we could get any information out of him. It didn't work. We were able to keep him awake, but we didn't learn anything useful about what he did or didn't know. After about four hours, Sam came down claiming that he just couldn't sleep. Dean gave me a subtle nod, and I exclaimed over the late hour and went off for my turn at a little sleep. Four hours later I relieved Dean.

Only four hours of sleep left me groggy and cranky. We had a lot to do today, and Jefferson's worrisome behavior was the least of it. As soon as the courthouse in Freer, Texas opened we were going to have to start making phone calls to find out what had happened to the trailer from the illegal alien smuggling case. That was going to take some fancy legwork, and I couldn't wait to see what kind of cover story Dean would come up with to explain our interest in it.

I couldn't leave Sam alone with Jefferson while Dean slept, but I really wasn't in the mood for small talk. I sat off to one side of the room nursing a cup of strong coffee and only halfway listening to their conversation. The soft sound of their voices and the predawn quiet nearly had me nodding off in my seat.

When the sound of Jefferson's voice changed it got my attention. I didn't move, letting them think I was still drowsing in my chair, but I was listening now. The change was subtle, he didn't become overtly hostile. His questions took on a probing quality, as if he was playing "good cop" in an interrogation. Sam was on guard, though, despite the long sleepless night.

"So, did John ever find that demon that he'd been looking for?" Jefferson asked the question quietly, with a respectful tone in his voice, like an old family friend. There was just the slightest edge to the question, though. The shift was so subtle that I'd nearly missed it. There was a long moment of silence before Sam answered.

"In a way, he did. As far as Dean and I can tell, the demon got him before he could get it. We're still looking for the thing." I could hear the sadness in Sam's voice, and a hint of caution underneath as he chose his words carefully.

"I am mighty sorry about your father; he was a good man, and a good friend. I know you boys must miss him something fierce." Jefferson paused before he asked his next question. I wished I could look up to see their faces, but I didn't want to let on that I was listening. "Have you two been getting on ok?"

Such an open-ended question was a bold move on Jefferson's part in the verbal chess match they had going on. Sam could answer with a quick yes and close the topic, or he could choose to answer more expansively in order to see what Jefferson would ask next. Both of them were fishing for information, but neither wanted to let the other know. It was especially tricky for Sam -- he had to find out how much Jefferson knew without giving away too much in the process.

"It was pretty rough, right after… But we're dealing. We're still hunting, which is what he would have wanted us to do."

"He was mighty proud of you boys. I'm sure he still is, and probably still watchin' over you, too. He always was too stubborn, he wouldn't let a little thing like death get in the way of keeping you two safe," Jefferson waited a beat to see if Sam would comment. When he got no reply he went on, "I never could figure why he dropped off the map last year. I mean, I know he'd found some lead, but why cut off contact with everyone?"

He was really fishing now. That question may have seemed innocent enough, but if Jefferson knew about Sam's secret, he'd also have to know that John had been protecting his son by not going to other hunters for help. If Sam wasn't very careful with his answer he could easily give something away.

"Dad was a proud man. This was his crusade; I guess he wanted to do it on his own. He even tried to keep Dean and me away so we wouldn't get hurt." Sam may have gone too far with that answer; letting on that John was worried about his and Dean's involvement. I just hope Jefferson interpreted it as the actions of an over-protective father. "He always was a hard man to figure out."

"Did he tell you anything about the demon before he passed? Anything to help you track it down?" The big man was circling closer to the heart of the matter, slowly edging nearer to what he wanted to find out.

"Nothing more than we already knew, which wasn't much. We're no closer to finding the thing than we ever were, and we still don't know what we're dealing with." Sam was treading the edge of outright lies with that answer. They did know more about the thing now, but they still didn't know which demon it is, or what its real plans are. "If Dad had more information about it, he stayed tight lipped about it." That was true enough; Sam didn't outright say that he didn't tell them anything. And John hadn't told them any more than they already knew about the demon. His last words had been about Sam. Everything else the brother's had learned had come from the demon's own mouth, and from events that happened after John's death.

"Why don't you tell me what you do know, maybe I can help." Oh, that was a sneaky move. Sam would be hard pressed to deflect Jefferson's offer of help without letting on that there was something that they didn't want even a trusted family friend to know.

"I appreciate the offer, J., but I'm not sure if you can be much help. We really don't know enough about the thing. We know that it has yellow eyes, it's powerful enough to manifest without possessing someone, and it seems to like setting women on fire. We have heard rumors of something big coming, some sort of demon war, but we don't know for sure what the connection, if any, is." Sam gave just enough information to placate the big man's request, without giving away too much or telling an outright lie. He certainly would have made a good lawyer. "Have you heard anything that might help us?" Sam countered, turning the tables by going on the offensive, hoping that Jefferson would give something away with his answer.

"I've heard that there has been a lot more demon activity these past couple of years, and I have heard the rumors about a war coming. I don't think I know anything that you boy's don't." Was that a hint that he thought Sam knew more than he was saying? It would help if I could have seen his face. I wasn't really much good at reading between the lines. I may have been reading more into it than was really there.

There was an awkward silence, and I guessed that Sam must have picked up on the hint as well. Maybe I wasn't reading too much into it.


	5. Chapter 5

Before Sam could come up with a suitable reply, we were all surprised to hear the sound of an engine, roaring and whining as if it were on the verge of giving up altogether, as a vehicle pulled into the yard. I stretched and looked up as if just waking up from a nap, and Sam crossed the room to move the curtain aside for a glimpse.

"It's Bobby." He dropped the curtain and hurried to the door. We had been under the impression that the grizzled older hunter would be gone for a few more days at least. If he'd driven back in such a hurry then something could be wrong. I groaned mentally, more complications were the last thing we needed. But then, it might not be all bad. Bobby could be the cavalry come to rescue us. I was assuming Dean had called him the previous evening as he'd said he was going to. But, no… that couldn't be the reason; it would take a lot longer than that to drive back from Las Vegas. Puzzled, I followed Sam to the door to see what was going on.

"Bobby, how are ya." Sam asked as he crossed the yard to help the older man unload his bags.

"I've been better. What's with the new yard art?" He asked as he limped around his truck, motioning toward Jefferson's mangled pick-up.

"Didn't Dean call you and let you know what was going on?" I asked, my puzzlement growing.

"He may have, but I had to turn my phone off on the plane. Forgot to turn it back on."

"Plane?" Sam asked, surprised.

"I may live simply, but that doesn't mean I _am_ simple. You think I'd trust that rust bucket on a road trip trough the desert?" he jerked his thumb back at his beat-up old truck, "I barely trusted it to get me to Lincoln in time to catch my flight." He grabbed his bag from Sam, "Course that meant I had to buy new gear when I got there. Stupid air travel regulations."

"What happened to your leg," Sam motioned to the leg that Bobby was favoring.

"Twisted my ankle digging up the corpse. Whole job went smoother than I expected, though, all things considered. You never did answer my question."

"It's Jefferson's truck. He was coming to see you, and had a close encounter with a deer. He's inside." Sam checked the bed of the truck to see if there were any more bags. "Bobby…"

"Yeah, I know what he's here about. I've been putting him off for months now. I should have known he would turn up here when I didn't return his calls. He wants to know about you, Sam. Walker's got a big mouth, and he's been spreading all kinds of stories. Jefferson caught wind of some of the less flattering ones. I wasn't really sure what to tell him." Bobby gave a wry grin, "To tell you the truth, he's the only fellow I've ever run into who can tell when I'm lying."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam sounded hurt by Bobby's omission.

"I figured you two had enough trouble on your hands." Bobby pulled at the ragged brim of his ball cap, looking away from Sam's pained expression. "I know you and Dean can take care of yourselves, but I was hoping I could spare you having to deal with this – with the questions and accusations." Bobby looked back, catching Sam's eyes and holding them to drive home the seriousness of his next words, "He was also asking about Steve Wandell. I think Jefferson knows something that ties you to his death."

Sam's jaw clenched, and he flinched at the name of the hunter he'd killed while he was possessed. He looked away into the distance as he worked to control the emotions that I could see flashing across his features. He blinked hard and looked back, "What should we do, Bobby? He's an old friend. I want to trust him, but I'm not sure if we can really trust anyone anymore."

"I wish to God I could answer that question for you, son. But in the end, it's your call." Bobby clapped a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder, "Your Daddy taught you to trust your gut. What's it telling you?"

"That we need all the friends we can get right now."

Bobby nodded, "Well, then, lying to a friend isn't a very good way to keep a friendship." Bobby shouldered his bag and turned toward the house, "It looks like I'm not going to get any sleep any time soon. You got coffee going?"

Sam and I followed, but we all stopped on the porch when Dean came around the corner from the back of the house. "Bobby? Wow, you got here fast." He looked over at Bobby's truck, "You got rocket boosters hidden in that thing?"

"Jet engine. It's in a secret compartment under the bed liner." Bobby deadpanned.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," I pointed out to him as he climbed the porch steps.

"Hard to sleep with all the racket out here. Thought I'd slip out to see what was going on."

"Climbed down the drainpipe again?" Bobby asked with a grin.

Dean looked at him in surprise, "You knew about that?"

"You weren't the first horny sixteen year old to live in this house, you know. I was shimmying down that drainpipe before you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye."

Dean shuddered theatrically at the thought of Bobby as a horny teenager.

"Besides, you can hear it creaking from the kitchen. You weren't as slick as you thought you were – I knew every time you snuck out. I never said anything 'cause you never know when a little blackmail material will come in handy." Bobby grinned at Dean's discomfort. "Well, as long as you're awake, you can watch your brother's back. Looks like we're in for an uncomfortable conversation."

Dean's eyes narrowed and his tone was serious, "What do you mean?"

"We're going to tell Jefferson. We're going to tell him everything." Sam explained, his jaw set in determination.

"Whoa, hold on a minute. You can't be serious, Sammy. It's bad enough Ellen knows, and who knows what kind of stories Gordon's been telling. We don't need any one else finding out about you."

"That's just it, Dean. Gordon's been spreading rumors. It'll be better if J hears it from us. He's already put enough pieces together to start asking questions." Sam looked at his brother. Dean's jaw was working as he looked for an argument against his brother's logic. Sam cut him off before he could respond, "Besides, Dad trusted him."

Dean couldn't argue with that. He met his brother's eyes for a long moment before he nodded, acceding to Sam's decision. "Let's get it over with then."

The four of us trooped back into the living room. Bobby dropped his bag and went straight to the kitchen for coffee. Sam, Dean and I stood uncomfortably as Jefferson regarded us with worried curiosity.

His eyes narrowed and he glanced at each of us, "Ok, you look like you're here to give me bad news." When no one spoke up he added, "Well, just spit it out. It's been a long enough night already."

Dean sat down on the arm of the couch and gave Sam a nod. I gave Sam a squeeze on his shoulder to let him know I supported his decision, and went to sit next to Dean on the couch. Sam took a deep breath and faced Jefferson, "You've been fishing around for information all night. I think we all know what it is you want to know, and I'm going to tell you, but first we want to know what you know."

"Can you repeat that again in English?" Jefferson gave a low chuckle at Sam's choice of words, and then waved him off as Sam reddened slightly and opened his mouth to try again. "No, I know what you mean. Look, I've been friends with you and your Daddy for a long time, and you ought to know by now that I'm not going to believe everything I hear over a few beers at the Roadhouse. But I had to know for sure." He leaned forward, "The worst of it is, so they say, that there are humans with abilities who are going to be part of the Devil's army when the time comes, and Gordon Walker's cronies have been spreading the tale that you're one of them, Sam." He watched Sam's face for his reaction.

Sam kept his face impassive, "That's what Gordon believes. In fact, he's tried to kill me once already, and he's killed another boy. The truth is – we don't know the truth. We don't know for sure what's going to happen. All we do know is that we are going to fight it every step of the way."

"You're damn right we are. Gordon is a nut job." Dean chimed in, supporting his brother.

"He is. He's driven, some would say obsessed, but then again, there are some who would have said the same thing about your dad. That doesn't men he's wrong." Jefferson looked intensely at Sam, "But it's not just the things he and his friends have been saying. I would have written that off as rumor, except that I saw something that made me think twice. It was enough to make me believe that what Gordon was saying could be true."

"What?" Dean asked, leaning forward himself as if ready to leap between Jefferson and his brother.

"A video." He paused a beat, "I was with the small group who went to check on Steve Wandell when he stopped answering his messages. Next time you try to destroy evidence, keep in mind you have to do more than just stomp on a computer to get rid of the data on the hard drive."

Sam's eyes went wide, but Dean came to his defense, "He was possessed, J. It wasn't him doing it."

"I hoped it was something like that, but I'm going to need more than just your word about it."

"It's the truth, Jefferson. The boy was possessed. I helped with the exorcism to get rid of the damned thing." Bobby had returned from the kitchen. I don't know how long he'd been standing in the doorway. I was too focused on what was going on between Jefferson and the Winchesters.

"Who else knows?" Dean's voice was hard. He was in full on protection mode. His hands were clenched into fists; his knuckles were white with strain.

"No one. None of the men who watched the video recognized Sam, and I kept my mouth shut. You damaged the drive enough that they couldn't get a clear still shot from the footage." Jefferson leaned back in his chair and gingerly rubbed the lump on his head. "I don't suppose I could get some more aspirin?"

Bobby came over to take a look at his wound. He looked into Jefferson's eyes, "Any nausea?"

"Not since right after it happened. I feel fine; it just hurts like a son of a bitch."

"I think you're ok to sleep then. How about a couple of codeine and a few hours sleep, and we can update you on the whole story later. If it helps, I'll personally vouch for the boys. Neither of them is evil, and they certainly don't need killing." I loved Bobby. No drama, just strait to the point and practical. God bless the man.

"That's the first good news I've had all night." Jefferson had dark half moons under his eyes. His baritone voice was getting even deeper from weariness. We were all tired. It had been a long, stressful, strange night. Secrets and darkness had almost lost us a friend and ally. A little bit of truthfulness and the light of day, which was breaking over the horizon, had seen things back to somewhat normal. At least, as normal as it gets with this crew.

I watched as Dean and Bobby helped the ebony skinned hunter from his chair and up the stairs to a bedroom. I understood Dean's desire to protect his brother, hell, I shared the same wish. But I was also sure that we would need all the friends we could get before it was all said and done. Sometimes telling the truth was worth the risk – I had a feeling that Jefferson was going to be a good friend to have.

Sam was wrapped up in his own thoughts. He was listlessly flipping through the notes for our hunt, but I could tell that he wasn't really seeing what he was looking at. I let him be for a minute while I went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of orange juice.

I sat one of the glasses in front of him, "Penny for your thoughts?"

He looked up at me, startled, and then smiled sadly. "It's nothing." He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and turned back to the notes, "We'd better get to work on this. The courthouse in Freer ought to be open in about an hour."


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby and Dean joined us, and by the time the courthouse was open so we could start making calls, Dean had come up with a plan.

"We need to know who the trailer was released to," pause, "Yes, I'm sure your forensics team is top notch, but they wouldn't have been looking for what we need to find." Another long pause, "I'm sorry, but I can't go into the details of an ongoing investigation. The most I can say is that it's a matter of national security." Dean paused again, "Of course I can fax you my credentials, and a written request, but we really need the information right away." He was rolling his eyes in frustration. He handed Sam his fake Department of Homeland Security badge, then grabbed a pen and jotted down the fax number the person on the other end of the phone gave him.

Sam was on his laptop, and, having anticipated the request, he'd opened an online fax account and created some phony letterhead to top off the official looking letter that he'd written. He scanned in Dean's fake badge and sent the request and badge off to the Freer Police evidence department. With any luck, such a small town would have no idea what the real thing was supposed to look like. To keep it from being traced back to us, the fax account was paid for with a credit card we were getting ready to ditch anyway, and he was doing some other computer magic that I really didn't understand to make sure that they couldn't trace the IP address back to his computer.

Dean was starting to get really frustrated with the runaround he was getting, "Listen, the only reason I can think of that you wouldn't be willing to cooperate and tell us who has the trailer now is if you're trying to hide something. We can launch an investigation into the way your department handles released evidence and confiscated assets, and under the circumstances any finding of improper actions could result in a not so pleasant vacation in Guantanamo. Now, unless you are trying to let a potential terrorist get away, I would suggest you tell me who has that trailer." He paused again, "You got the fax? Good, now who has the trailer?" He grinned as he wrote. Apparently his threats had the desired affect. "There, now, that wasn't so hard, was it? Thank you. No, that's all I need for now. If we have any further questions we'll be back in touch." He hung up the phone and waved the scrap of notepaper he'd been writing on.

"That was fun. I think I like being the bad cop." He pocketed the fake ID.

"Ah, how power does corrupt." Sam commented. "Don't let it go to your head, there, Super-Cop. So, where's the trailer?"

"It was sold at auction to a small trucking company called Greely and Sons Transport." Dean slid the paper across the coffee table to Sam.

Sam started typing on his keyboard, and after a few minutes he smiled, "Got it. They're based out of Ft. Smith, Arkansas. Here's the phone number." He jotted down the number on the same scrap of paper and slid it back to Dean. "It's a small company, just getting started. They've only been in business for two years." He printed out a picture of one of their rigs with a huge green "GS" logo on the side, "Here's what we'll be looking for."

Before Dean started dialing, I piped up, "Dean, make sure you ask for the trailer number, and the number and license plate of the truck pulling it. Every company has to assign a unique number to each truck and trailer they own. It'll make it easier to be sure we've got the right one when we find it."

He nodded and started to dial.

"Have you found anything about what happened to the bodies, yet?" Sam asked.

"Yeah… it looks like they were shipped back to their families in Mexico. I hope finding the trailer will take care of the problem, because I don't like the idea of trying to cross the border with the Feds after you two." It had taken me a while to dig up the info, but I was proud of myself for finding it.

Dean shushed us with a wave of his hand as his call was answered. It didn't take long for him to get what he needed. Apparently Greely and Sons was much more cooperative than the Freer police had been, but then, they had a lot more to loose.

"It's headed for Salt Lake City." Dean reported triumphantly as he hung up the phone.

"That fits," Bobby said, "Because I just found a report of two more bodies yesterday morning in Walcott, Iowa, and another two this morning in Cheyenne, Wyoming" He held up a page from an Iowa newspaper. Bobby must have had subscriptions to most of the newspapers in the country.

I nodded, "Walcott is where the Iowa 80 truck stop is. It's the biggest in the country, and Cheyenne is a day's drive from there and has several truck stops. Fits the pattern. He'll be in Salt Lake by tonight."

"Then we'd better get on the road. We've got to catch him before the sun goes down tonight or someone else is going to die." Sam was already shutting down his laptop, and I started doing the same.

"That's not going to be easy, he's already got one hell of a head start on us," I pointed out.

"Then it's a good thing I'm driving," Dean grinned.

"What about Jefferson?" Bobby asked, glancing up the stairs.

Sam froze, and then sighed. "Damn, he's gonna think we ran out."

"No, I'll let him know the score. But you're going to have to talk to him at some point." Bobby pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. Listen, go ahead and tell him the whole story. He has our numbers, he can call us if he needs more. We'll come back here when this is done." Sam returned to his packing. Bobby nodded, and helped us get our things together. It didn't take us long to stow our gear and get moving.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean drove like a madman. I had hoped to get a little sleep on the trip, but it was not to be. I was surprised that we didn't get pulled over, but then, we were probably going too fast to register on radar guns. The truck we were chasing had nearly a three hundred mile head start.

Sam was holding on with white knuckles, "Dean, are you trying to get us killed?" He looked back at the pickup truck we'd nearly run into as Dean made a tire squealing left turn through a yellow light.

"Dean… hate to bring this up, but you are a wanted felon. I don't think a traffic stop would be a good idea, especially if you're going," I glanced over his shoulder at the speedometer, "thirty miles over the speed limit."

He backed off to a more reasonable speed, even if it was still faster than was legal, "You two grandmas are ruining all my fun. Do you know how seldom I get to open her up like that?"

Just as he said that, and no sooner than he had slowed down, a black and white police cruiser pulled out of a side street just ahead of us.

"Ok, point taken. I'll be a good boy." He slowed to the speed limit as we followed the police car for the next ten miles or so, but as soon as it was gone he put the hammer down once again, just not quite as recklessly as before.

The scenery zipped by as the miles passed, changing from thick evergreen forests to rolling grass covered hills, and eventually to red-brown desert and dramatic mountains as we sped toward Salt Lake City.

We talked and joked as we rode. Our moods were much lighter, and we were all glad to be doing something. This was a straightforward find-the-bad-thing-and-kill-it job. No yellow eyed demon, no psychic stuff, it was a much needed break from the emotional ups and downs of the past few weeks.

And the boys did manage a little payback for the hot sauce. Though how Dean managed to get a rubber hamburger patty on such short notice is a mystery I will probably never solve. I decided that a little blue ink in his toothpaste would make up for it nicely.

We pulled into Salt Lake City just as the sun was setting, and we couldn't have been too far behind the truck we needed to find. I pulled out the truck stop guide that I'd picked up at our last stop. "Ok, there's a Flying J in the middle of the city, and one north on I-15, then there's a TA and a Flying J just west of here in Toole, and a couple of mom-and-pop truck stops scattered around the city. We're going to have to check them all, I think." I directed Dean to the big Flying J truck stop in the middle of the city.

The truck stop was huge, and it was full of rigs parked in long rows. We cruised slowly up and down the rows looking for the white and green Greely and Sons truck.

"This is going to take us all night." Dean groused. Sam and I were craning our necks trying to see the logos on the sides of the trucks as we passed them.

"Did the dispatcher you talked to tell you where he was delivering to? He'd probably park at the truck stop closest to wherever he was going." I suggested.

Dean shook his head, "No, all she said was Salt Lake City. Damn, that's the last row. Where to next?"

"Let's try the two out in Toole. They're pretty big, and if he's not there we can hit the smaller places."

"What are we going to do when we find it?" Sam asked, "It's not like we can salt and burn an entire tractor-trailer in the middle of a crowded truck stop lot."

"Let's just find the bitch first. Then we'll do what we do best – make it up as we go." Dean pulled up the ramp onto I-80 and we headed west to Toole. The interstate paralleled the south side of the Great Salt Lake, hugging the shoreline for several miles. Traffic was thin, and it didn't take us long to get there.

We once again rode slowly along the rows of trucks, and we were about to give up when Sam called out, "There! That's it."

Dean looked at the rig squeezed between two other rigs near the end of a long row of trucks. He looked around at the well lit lot, crowed with semis and their drivers. "Ok. This is going to be a tough one. How the hell are we supposed to bust a ghost with half the truckers in the country watching?"

Sam sighed, "I hate to say it, but I think we're going to have to steal the truck."

Dean grinned, "Alright, now you're talking, but we've still got too big an audience."

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure how well it's going to work. We'll need a CB radio." I suggested, not at all certain my idea was a good one.

"What do you have in mind?" Dean turned to look over the seat at me.

"What is one thing that most men will run to see?"

"A hot naked chick?"

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of a chick fight. These lots are usually crawling with lot lizards, and they advertise over the CB. If all these lonely, bored men think that two of them are about to throw down on the far side of the lot, they'll abandon their rigs to go take a look see."

"What's a lot lizard?" both brothers asked at the same time. And I laughed at the puzzled looks on their faces.

"Ok, I could understand if Sam didn't know, but you, Dean? I don't know whether to be pleased or disappointed." I laughed again, and then explained, "A lot lizard is a hooker who works the truck stop lots."

Dean grinned, "Ok, I'm liking this idea, but won't we need two women?"

"Not really. All we need are two voices." I glanced meaningfully over at Sam, "You ever see a movie called Joy Ride?" When Dean snorted with laughter, and Sam's face took on a horrified look I knew they had seen it.

"Let's check that trailer out and make sure it's the right one first," Sam suggested, trying to forestall Dean's apparent glee at the distraction I'd come up with. He dug around in the gear bag and pulled out his EMF meter. "Drop me off, I'll see if I can get a reading."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're gonna find some way to wiggle out of this aren't you?" He grinned at his brother's scowl and pulled the Impala around to the side of the truck stop building and parked where we could see the trailer of the Greely and Sons truck. "We'll wait here."

Sam climbed out and made his way toward our target. Dean turned and looked over the seat at me. "You remember how to drive one of those monsters?"

I nodded, "It's like riding a bike. Do you think you can hotwire it?"

He grinned, "If it has wheels and an engine, I can make it sit up and do the cha-cha. A quick hotwire is no problem, oh ye of little faith." His smile turned from teasing to something smokier, and he was leaning back over the seat to steal a kiss when we heard a commotion coming from the direction where Sam had disappeared among the rigs. "Shit."

He was out of the Impala in a flash, and I was right on his heels. Since Johnny's place, I'd taken to carrying my pistol on me at all times, and I could feel its comforting weight at the small of my back as I ran. I had to wear a loose overshirt over my T to hide it, and it flapped in the breeze as I hurried to keep up with Dean's long strides. We dodged around a couple who had just climbed out of their rig and were looking to see what all the fuss was about. As we came out of the gap between two rigs, we could see a cluster of people gathered in the lot about fifty yards from the truck we'd been casing. Dean slowed to a walk, and I breathed a sigh of relief as we saw Sam standing in the crowd, trying to see what was going on. We hurried to his side.

"What's up?" Dean asked, jutting his chin toward the thick knot of drivers.

"Someone collapsed. Heat stroke." He held up the EMF, "And that's definitely the right trailer. We've got to get it out of here before it claims another victim."

I looked back at the green and white truck. Dean followed my gaze. It was empty, and we had a great distraction already.

"Showtime." He handed the Impala keys to Sam, "Follow us. I have an idea." He started to head away, but turned back, "Oh, and make sure both gas cans are full. We're gonna need as much as we can get."

"Sam took the keys and nodded, "Be careful."

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean quipped as he and I started heading for the truck.

It was a Freightliner Columbia, and, having driven one before, and locked my keys in it, I knew its weak spot. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking I used my elbow to knock out the little blind-spot window near the passenger side floorboard. It popped out easily. Dean took up a position behind me to block what I was doing from any onlookers and I reached up inside to find the door latch. Within moments we were inside.

I looked around the cab at the scattered belongings of the driver who lived and worked there. "Dean. Whatever we do to the trailer, we have to make sure the cab stays intact. For all we know, this is all that driver owns, and even if it isn't I'm sure at least some of it is important to him."

He nodded, "No problem. If what I have planned works, that is."

"What do you have planned?" I watched as he leaned under the steering wheel and searched for the right wires from the ignition.

"Where are we?" He asked, cryptically.

"Huh?"

"Ok, let me try again." He yanked on a handful of wires and pulled them loose, "What's west of here?"

A light bulb came on in my head. Of course… the salt flats! "Dean, you're a genius. A proper criminal mastermind," I added the last bit as he finished rewiring the ignition and touched the last two wires together, bringing the huge diesel engine rumbling to life.

He bounced over to the passenger seat and let me climb behind the wheel. I checked the gearshift, it was a super-10, no problem. I just had to remember to flip the selector switch between each shift and I would be fine. I was pretty out of practice, though, and I was nervous. I grabbed the clipboard from the door pocket and handed it to Dean as I slipped her into second gear and eased out of the hole. "What are we carrying?"

He glanced over the bills of lading and laughed. "We've got nearly twenty tons of toilet paper."

"Well, that's going to make for a pretty bonfire." I grinned as I pulled out of the lot onto the road, checking my mirrors to be sure Sam was following. Traffic was light, which was a blessing because I had to merge three lanes to the left to make the left hand split for the on ramp to the interstate. I worked my way through the gears, and I was proud of myself for not missing or grinding any of them. I still had it. Then I remembered something.

"Oh crap." I glanced down and sure enough, there was a Qualcom system. "Damn."

"What?" Dean was looking in the mirror for any signs of flashing lights.

"Not that, this." I pointed to the keyboard with its little digital display. "That can track this truck by satellite. As soon as the driver knows his truck's missing his company can just give its coordinates to the cops." I looked for a spot to pull over. The shoulder was too narrow here, though, and the ground too soft. I spotted an exit sign and pulled over on the off ramp.

Dean climbed out and I followed. I showed him where the satellite receiver was located and he climbed up to it. A quick snip of the wires, and we were back in business.

Sam had pulled in behind us and was coming up the side of the 53 foot long trailer to see what was going on. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'. We're good." He pulled the little white dome from its mounts and threw it to the ground, shattering it into pieces. Then he climbed back down. "Just ditching the Lo-Jack." As he spoke those last words, his breath frosted. It was surreal in the desert heat. Then I felt the cold wash over me, making my arms break out in goosepimples. I shivered, but the cold was gone almost as quickly as it had come.

Before any of us could speak, Sam was suddenly jerked from his feet and pulled beneath the trailer.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and grabbed his brother's hands. They were caught in a tug of war, with Sam as the rope. Dean pulled with all of his strength, but it wasn't enough to pull Sam back. Sam looked up into his brother's eyes and Dean tightened his grip. I looked around for something… anything that would help.

The ground sparkled faintly under my feet. We weren't far enough into the salt flats yet, but there might be enough… I scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it under the trailer at the unseen force that was pulling on Sam. His legs dropped and Dean fell over backwards with the suddenness of it, pulling his brother from under the trailer with such force that Sam ended up on top of him..

But the salt hadn't been enough to dissipate the spirit for long. It flickered into view standing right over Sam and Dean. Dean rolled away from it, pulling Sam with him. They scrambled to their feet.

The ghost looked like a young Hispanic man, dressed in a stained white t-shirt and a ragged pair of jeans. He flickered in and out of existence as the salt in the ground kept him from fully materializing. He seemed to move toward us in spurts and jolts. I scooped up another handful of dirt, and Dean did the same. We flung our salt-laden soil at the spirit and it dissipated in a puff of ethereal smoke.

"Come on, that's not gonna keep him for long. We gotta get this thing moving again." Dean grabbed my arm and shoved me toward the cab of the rig. Sam reached down and scooped up another handful of the dirt, just in case. He nodded to his brother and jogged back to the Impala.

Dean and I scrambled back to our places in the cab and I put it back in gear and released the air brakes. I was a little shaken, and this time I nearly stalled it out as I pulled off the shoulder. I slowed down and took a deep breath, and then I tried again. This time I got it moving. We pulled back out onto the highway.

We had maybe twenty miles to go before we were into the salt flats. The Great Salt Basin was what was left of an inland sea that had evaporated millennia ago, leaving behind its load of salt. The Great Salt Lake was all that was left of the sea. That, and the Salt Flats.

We came down off the last of the low hills, and the vast white expanse of alkali desert stretched before us, seeming to glow in the moonlight. Dean gasped next to me, and I knew it couldn't be because he'd never seen the sight before. I glanced over, and he seemed to be struggling with something I couldn't see. He gasped for air, and his skin was reddening as if with a bad sunburn.

He fought with the spirit, but with no salt handy, there was nothing he could do to loosen its hold on him. But there was salt handy, we were surrounded by it. "Hold on Dean! This is gonna get rough."

I slowed the rig as much as I dared. Once they get moving, it takes time to slow down an eighteen wheeler, and time is just what we didn't have. I pulled on my seatbelt and prayed, then I turned the wheel. The truck bucked like a rodeo bronc, and I had to fight with all my strength to hold the wheel and keep her moving straight through the ditch. We had to get out into the flats where the salt was deeper, and away from the road where it was mostly sand. The mirrors were useless, the truck was bouncing too much for me to see if Sam was still following us.

Dean was gurgling and kicking in the seat next to me. He was losing the battle. His arms flailed as he tried to find something solid to fight against. I couldn't wait any longer. I prayed we were far enough into the flats for this to work, and I eased the rig to a stop. As soon as I set the brakes I was out of my seat pushing Dean's door open and shoving him and the spirit that was gripping him out into the salt.

Dean landed hard on his back. What little air he had was knocked from his lungs, but the ghost was gone. His skin started to return to its normal shade. I hopped down next to him, and looked up as I heard the rumble of the Impala's engine approaching slowly across the rough ground. I hurried to kneel at Dean's side. He was trying to sit up, and groaning in pain.

"Take it easy, cowboy. That was a pretty hard landing. Sorry about that." I checked him over to make sure he wasn't injured. Sam hurried over to see what was going on. His footsteps crunched in the salt.

"Were you trying to save me, or kill me?" Dean asked as he rubbed the lump forming on the back of his head.

I couldn't think of any answer to that, so I kissed him instead. His eyes went wide in surprise for a second, and then he leaned into the kiss. He put a hand on the back of my head, twining his fingers in my hair. I pulled back, "Yup, you're ok." I grinned. I scrambled to my feet and held out a hand to help him up.

"What happened this time?" Sam asked. He was standing only a few feet away, and was shaking his head and trying to hide a grin. "Or do I even want to know?"

"Son of a bitch attacked me in the cab." Dean dusted himself off. "Let's torch this sucker and get it over with."

Sam held up the gas cans he was holding, "Ready when you are, but are we far enough off the highway?"

"It'll take a while for a fire crew to get out here, we're good." Dean started heading for the back of the trailer, limping slightly. Sam followed.

I pulled the fifth-wheel release and cranked the trailer's legs down so I could pull the tractor out from under it. It was quick work to separate the trailer from the truck, and I parked it near the Impala – far enough away so that the fire wouldn't damage it.

By the time I made it back to the trailer Dean and Sam had thoroughly doused the paper inside with gasoline. Sam was already out of the trailer on the ground, and Dean hopped down just as I got there. He dusted his hands together, "So, who brought the marshmallows?"

"Sorry, all I brought were shovels." I held up the shovels I'd grabbed from the Impala's trunk. Sam took one, and the two of us got to work shoveling salt into the back of the trailer and tossing it over the top of it. Dean was tossing one of the rolls of toilet paper from hand to hand.

"Ok, that's enough." Sam said, stepping back. "Go ahead, Dean."

I stepped back and watched as Dean poured the last little bit of gasoline over the roll he had saved. He motioned for us to move back. Flicking his lighter, he lit the roll and threw it like a grenade into the back of the trailer. He turned and hit the ground, covering his head with his arms. The result was similar to a grenade. The gas fumes had filled the back of the trailer while Sam and I had been shoveling, and the flames ignited them in a huge fireball. The heat was intense.

We watched for a few minutes to make sure the trailer was going to burn completely, but we couldn't stick around for long. We had done a thorough job. The center of the trailer was already collapsing in on itself from the heat when we piled into the Impala and pulled away.

We went west, passing through the hundred miles or so of white salt wasteland, past the Bonneville proving grounds, and into Nevada. We were greeted by the bright neon of Wendover's casinos as we topped the ridge that marked the border of the salt flats and the state line.

Dean grinned huge, "Now this is my kind of town."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean found us a motel on the edge of town. Once upon a time it had been part of a larger casino hotel, but now, years away from its heyday, it was a run down reminder of days past, catering mostly to those who hadn't done so well at the tables and slots of the newer casinos. But it did have a nice view of the northern Nevada desert and was far enough from the glaring lights of the small strip that we could actually see the stars and the nearly full moon hanging heavy in the sky just above the jagged ridges of the mountains.

He booked two rooms, as we normally did when we were flush with funds. Sam took his bags into one of the rooms, but Dean surprised me by bringing his bags into my room, rather than following his brother. He paused at the door to put out the Do-Not-Disturb sign.

I was very aware of his presence in the room as I slung my backpack onto the bed and opened it. He dumped his on the dresser, not looking at me. Normally he was so cocky, so sure of himself, but now I was seeing a different side of him. It was almost as if he wasn't sure what his next move should be, like he was afraid he would scare me away with any sudden movement.

I pulled my shower kit from my bag and went to brush my teeth. I thought about making the first move, about just pulling him into my arms and kissing the nonsense out of him… the thought was very tempting. But I wanted to be chased for once in my life. I wanted him to be sure. It wasn't like this would be our first time; the memories of the elevator in Miami made a delicious tingle run down my spine. But I think he wasn't used to the idea of a relationship that could… that would last. The fact that he would leave in the morning had always made him bold, but now… now the rules had changed.

I heard the radio click on. The song was perfect… Foreigner, I Want to Know What Love Is.

_I've got to take a little time,_

_A little time to think things over,_

_I've got to read between the lines…_

As I rinsed my mouth I heard the door open behind me, and he stepped into the room. Coming up behind me he slipped his hands around my waist and leaned down to kiss my neck as I watched our reflections in the mirror.

_Now this mountain I must climb_

_Feels like a world upon my shoulders  
I through the clouds I see love shine  
It keeps me warm as life grows colder_

I put my hands on his and leaned into him pulling his warm strong arms around me, inhaling him, feeling the softness of his hair against my cheek and his lips against my skin.

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
I don't know if I can face it again  
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far  
To change this lonely life_

His hands slipped under my T-shirt, and his lips left my neck. I could see tender desire shining in his eyes as they met mine in the mirror. He stepped back and lifted my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it onto the sink. His hands came back to my waist as I turned to face him.

_I wanna know what love is  
I want you to show me  
I wanna feel what love is  
I know you can show me_

Our lips met. His mouth devoured me as his arms held me. I slipped my hands around him to grasp his shoulders, to pull him gently closer to me. The lines of our bodies pressed close together, like they were two pieces of a puzzle, made to fit together.

_I'm gonna take a little time  
A little time to look around me  
I've got nowhere left to hide  
It looks like love has finally found me_

His large hand slid up my back and unclasped my bra. He gently slipped the straps from my shoulders. I ran my hands along his chest and up to his shoulders, sliding off his plaid overshirt, leaving only the tight T-shirt that hugged his muscles so closely.

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
I don't know if I can face it again  
I can't stop now, I've traveled so far  
To change this lonely life_

He let it drop to the floor. He pulled back from our kiss and looked into my eyes, his green eyes searching mine. He must have found whatever it was he was looking for. He lifted me into his arms as he had done back at Bobby's place and carried me to the bedroom.

_I wanna know what love is  
I want you to show me  
I wanna feel what love is  
I know you can show me_

He placed me gently onto the bed. He shucked his t-shirt and lay next to me, propped on one arm so he could look down into my eyes. His strong hand was so gentle on my stomach, and then it moved slowly upward to my breasts. His lips claimed mine again and I was lost in him.

_I wanna know what love is  
I want you to show me  
And I wanna feel, I want to feel what love is  
And I know, I know you can show me_

We showed each other what love is, slow and gentle. I gave myself to him completely. We went slowly, exploring each other. I reveled in the hardness of his muscles, and the softness of his touch. I drowned in his moss-green eyes, and lost myself in his lips. We spent an eternity discovering each other, I learned the contours and secrets of his body, and he learned mine. And he smiled a smile that was only for me.

_Let's talk about love  
I wanna know what love is, the love that you feel inside  
I want you to show me, and I'm feeling so much love  
I wanna feel what love is, no, you just cannot hide  
I know you can show me, yeah_

_I wanna know what love is, let's talk about love  
I want you to show me, I wanna feel it too  
I wanna feel what love is, I want to feel it too  
And I know and I know, I know you can show me  
Show me love is real, yeah  
I wanna know what love is..._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Sam called Bobby the next morning to let him know how things had gone and to see what was up with Jefferson. Bobby had given Jefferson the whole story, and, by way of apology, J had offered to head off to Mexico to take care of salting and burning the body for us. Which left us free for a few days of R&R.

Three days later we were on our way back to Bobby's place, well rested and in a jubilant mood despite the rain. We had been on the road all day by the time we hit the Montana-South Dakota state line. Night had fallen and we were on some little traveled backroad cutting through a dense forest. Dean saw a lit up red and yellow sign ahead advertising the Sunrise Diner. He slowed and took the turn.

"I don't know about you two, but I'm starved." He said as he pulled down the short drive to the tiny diner.

"Yeah, I could do with a little food." Sam agreed, and he looked back to where I was stretched out in the back seat. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, a chicken sandwich sounds pretty good right about now." I smiled.

Dean pulled in next to a beat up red and white pick-up. He handed Sam a wad of cash. "Make mine a cheese burger, and don't forget the extra onions this time."

"Yeah, well, we have to ride in the car with your extra onions." Sam opened his door and swung his long legs out into the gentle drizzle that was falling.

"Hey, see if they have any pie." Dean called as Sam closed the Impala's door. I want some pie!" he yelled again to make sure his brother heard him. Then softer, as though speaking to himself, he said, "I love me some pie."

_The End, for now…_


End file.
